"She is, of course, a Eurasian ermine or a stoat. I believe it may be a mutation of some sort that provides her the permanent ermine color, regardless of season or temperature." The Socialite deftly dodged the meat of the question as he watched Tularemia perch herself upon his hat again. In truth, she had been bought for a fair price from Nasso's Zoologicals. Though, it was strange, he could swear she had been a long-tailed weasel before. And she had been a ruddy brown rather than ermine. But the last two years had felt like an eternity, an age, time dragging slowly ever since he...

The Socialite smiled. "She's rather smart for a stoat, which would be why I trust her with my mail. But let it not be forgotten that she is an animal and, having been fed, will continue to beg for table scraps from you. I would be prepared for either a raiding of your pockets or an intrusion into your bag next we meet." He laughed behind a hand, polite, but hiding a tricky and mischief-minded side. Perhaps a stoat was the perfect companion for someone like him.